CHAPTER TWELVE
They both lied eaten on the couch with exhausted lungs. Mathew’s arm was wrapped around Susan holding her in from hitting the floor. With the plain grey blanket covering their skin, Susan awoke to the silence of the early morning. She didn’t know what time it was but she guessed by the tame sound of the traffic that it was somewhere before who gives a fuck o’clock.
She rubbed her lower back up against the lay of his land. Once again, her day was free from any preconceived timeline, so she lay there for a while munching on what she felt like doing for the rest of the day. Since she was already in a new land she thought of taking the opportunity to torture the place with her curiosity.
His arm glazed over as she slipped out from under the blanket. First step of her master plan accomplished, she know found herself naked in the middle of the office. Slightly aroused by the voyeuristic air brushing around her, she slowly and gracefully looked around the room for something to tame her thighs. As she picked up her cardigan she got used to walking around nude, tickled to just wear the minimum. Just enough to keep that voyeuristic scratch going.
With the debate of clothes over she proceeded with her plan to conquer and uncover the secrets of the agency. Sliding across the damp carpet she went behind the desk and peered at the drawer full of opportunities. Treasured photos and info fondled itself inside the wooded casket of his desk.
Dancing her eyes over the buffet that was his desk she noticed a framed photo of an elderly man with what seemed to be a younger Mathew. They had their arms around each other as if bonding for the camera. Pleasant smiles begged the frame of the photo to join in the fun, quirky frame.
Picking it up she looked at their faces as if trying to uncover Mathew’s childhood from their expressions. He is definitely his father, she thought looking at the same mouth from both men. Mathew’s smile seemed natural to an extent, almost forced by youthful ignorance, whereas the father’s smile seemed deadly in comparison. He clearly wasn’t in the mood to throw his smile towards the camera, which made Susan question why Mathew would even have the photo placed on his desk. Perhaps it was the only photo they had of each other.
She opened a few drawers with a quiet grasp. Many of them were just filled with irrelevant magazines and paperwork. Uninterested she moved around the room for other outlets of Mathew’s life. A small cabinet to the left of the desk held a few hard copy portfolios of his work. So picking one at random she breezed through it with haste. Paper posing and plastic postures was mainly what she saw. She liked a few of the photos, primarily due to the dress that the particular model wore.
Another folder came into question. This one in particular was hidden at the back of the drawer. Hidden you know the way. It was creased and heavy with weight shifting from one end of the plastic to the next. Unbuttoning the plastic she peered into heaped contents of the folder. Sheds and shards of torn paper created the loose hair to the wild haircut that were the photos. Creased and folded with force each photo that she consecutively pulled out had a certain amount of frustration built into every print out. Pen markings and pencil stabs acted as his wild contribution to the images. Susan was halted by the images, confused, to think if this was his normal work process or not.
Each model that played in the photos were equally sharp. Each one clean and wiped without the usual folds and ruffles that came with average skin. Even the models in other photos had a degree of normality to them. But these ones were the discarded pile with clear hatred punched into the photos. It was a beautifully contrasting sight for Susan to see. The cleanest and most straight cut models left to themselves within the frames of torn and marked photos. Why the fuck would he keep this in his desk? She asked herself, naturally since she is a normal human being. The best answer that she came up with was that maybe he hated throwing away anything. T’was enough for her ya know.
With the room cleaned by Susan’s curious nails, she decided to move out into the rest of the agency. Why not? She is not very often in a modelling agency before the morning, and she didn’t seem to notice any peering cameras around apart from one in the entrance.
Walking once more down the hallway she looked out the wall of windows at the few people that walked around. The sun was half open with its eyelids popping over the line of buildings in the distance. Every second person held a cup of coffee injecting something, something and something.
Moving to the atrium she tiptoed down the frozen stairs. She hated the feel of the cold ceramic sticking up her legs, which immediately made her regret not wearing her boots. Every step was followed by a painful reminder of her stupidity. But laziness and the fact that her adventure had already started convinced her to march onwards towards destiny and all the glorious blahs that came with.
The door opened leaving her standing in the atrium half open to the thick stank air that collected over the night. In the middle of the room perched between two tables was a woman draped in shards of black. No high heels, no casual, she was dressed to tantalise knees. Her long brown hair fell over her shoulders allowing enough space for her aged chest to shine. She was wedged somewhere in the middle of her forties.
Susan halted in herself frozen by the notion that she wasn’t alone. Without thinking about it she hovered her hand over her crotch protecting whatever was left of her privacy. As she edged to leave the atrium the older woman gestured for Susan to come over. She didn’t raise her head that much instead continuing with her wrapped business on the table, throwing cloth from shit to business like nobodies.
“Are you new to the agency? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.” The words were placed before Susan. Not knowing what to do she edged her way towards the fancy female.
“No... I’m not part of the agency. Why do ya think that?”
“Just curious why you are walking around here before the opening hours… half nude and all.” She said with a small grin on the edges of her mouth.
“I know what you are thinking, and no I was not here last night with Steff.” Susan said with an expression of disgust. The woman looked up from her duties and stared at her with slight surprise, as if not expecting to get that reaction out of her.
“So Mathew then. Right?” Susan took the opportunity to eat away at the image of the woman and all of her experienced curves.
“The reason that I am here doesn’t have to have shit to do with men.”
“True but from the way you are standing… you know half naked with a serious indication of sex, that would mean one of three things. Firstly you were with Steff… which we have already crossed from the possibilities. And secondly you’d either be here for me, but I don’t necessarily like your’ type… no offense. O would you look at that, two out of three. If my math is right that just leaves one possibility.” the woman said as she straightened her posture with a certain motion of confidence. Her face was eased with a relaxed expression like a wet wash cloth dripping from hot boiled water, steamy yet relaxed. Susan looked at her and all she saw was aged confidence seep from the back of the woman’s neck. Once again that familiar desire stabbed its way up Susan’s spine and built a nest right beneath her scalp. You know, the usual feeling one gets when they talk to someone.
“By the way you don’t have to try and cover yourself like that. I have worked in the business long enough to know what you’d look like naked.” It didn’t comfort Susan the slightest bit, but knowing that the woman works in the business painted her interest even further. As Susan loosened her arms away from her body, the older woman guarded her chest, crossed and all.
“I know Steff can make himself look like a mountain of filth, but he actually enjoys making himself look that way, he has another side that takes a few lonely drinks to see. I’m not saying he plays with puppies when he gets home but he’s not all that sleeve tattoo says he is. He understands the models and treats them with enough respect. There’s not much we can do about him enjoying the reaction he gets out of poking and tormenting people though. Wipe it off... He expects you to.�
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“So you know him well I’m assuming?” Susan knew what she was asking, knew what she was implying.
“Maybe I’m a little biased. We all are for that certain someone. ” With every response that marched its way out of her gut sure stomach, Susan couldn’t help but feel the need to copy and paste her. Crossing her arms and stretching her back she mimicked the same strong statue pose as the woman, and unintentionally exposed her tattoo to the all-consuming sight of the woman. Not much went passed her.
“What’s with the tattoo? It’s bizarre to say the least, just a collection of lines. Some sort of modern art?” Susan immediately covered the tattoo with as much sleeve as possible.
“A small hobby that’s all. Not much of an artiste.”
“Darling a tattoo hobby is either where you give tattoos yourself or you replace your skin with a layer of ink until you look like a piece of paper. That there is not a hobby.”
“It’s really nothing, a bit of fun on time off. I tend to have a lot of that.”
“Well it clearly means something to you and you don’t seem willing to share, so I won’t pry. Lord bless me I won’t pry on your impressionable soul.... do you believe in any of that stuff?”
“Like religious stuff?” Susan said surprised by the question.
“Yes that kind of stuff, hail marries and blood for your belief. The stuff that gets you marching.”
“No... I don’t know.... I try giving it a bit of thought every so often but I always end up in the same place.”
“And what place is that?”
“The kingdom of boredom.” The woman pleased by Susan’s answer removed herself from the table and walked around it as if stretching her tired legs. Susan rolled her eyes over the woman digesting every creak she saw and every bend she heard. Every word that flowed out encapsulated Susan. Not knowing why “her” in particular coated the encounter with that memorable scent. Being aware of your desires is one thing, indulging them is another, but being controlled by them was entirely new to Susan. Every twitch of Susan’s muscles faced those of the woman as if they were their own fleshy brethren.
“The name is Josey.” Susan hovered about posing the same as Josey entirely forgetting the protocols of conversation.
“And this is the part where you share your name as well, then we continue this delightful conversation onto something else, eventually going our separate ways. You, to break Mathew out of his routine and me, trying to appease Steff. Or am I supposed to guess your name.” Throughout her spiel Susan tried to squirm her name in but was silenced by the woman until she finished her rant. Susan noticed how she seemed to enjoy the long winded unwind of her own vocal cords, as if she was rediscovering what her voice sounded like. A luxury only age can give.
“Susan Murphy. I met Mathew at a bar.”
“Wonderful but I only asked for your name. I do not wish to know how he fishes. I’ve been at the end of that nonsense enough in my youth.” The more she spoke the more she composed herself to look like a prized statue. Naturally Susan followed suit, raising her chest to an almighty high deserving only of the highest shelf. Not wanting to leave yet she felt the need to ask questions to keep the beating heart of the conversation going.
“So what’s the agency like? It’s big, and has a variety of models. That’s pretty much all I know so far.” The woman swung her elbow onto the table in front of her. As Susan asked she couldn’t help but feel the need to copy her. She didn’t have a table in front of her though and she couldn’t do it to the table that Josey was on, would have been strange, so she shifted on her legs as if uncomfortable in her feet. The dim light from the ceiling conditioned the mood between the two. As Susan obliviously soaked in every edged movement of Josey’s body and expression, Josey did the same for Susan’s eye line. She saw her eyeing her up and down and for the past while she was trying to figure out why. Munching on different possibilities as she answered and asked.
“Callaghan agency, well what can I say. Built from nothing, raised by helping hands and helped by modelling bodies. This place has been part of my life since the moment I found my own libido.” Josey said with a hint of music in her voice, as if speaking tired and sleepy poetry. Passively noticing this, Susan shaped her own voice to match. It was like a two way singing contest sponsored by sleeping pills.
“So… how did this place start, and how did it get so... clean and big.”
“Pugh…Well my dear it all started with me, a dream and a man called Steff Callaghan. Big adventure you know, have been trying to get it made into a film for the past while. But no bites.” She said with a clean smile wiping every scent of seriousness away from her lips.
“Steffan Callaghan?” Susan asked with a taste of laughter.
“Steff.... We put some money in for a nice dress and a shitty camera. Took a few photos of me and we slowly built this place to what it is now. Of course along the way there was an adventure full of people dying to get their clothes off and fling meat around for money, but we always insisted on just shooting fashion. A few magazines and shoots later we met Mathew. Young buckin and ready to press all the buttons. I’m always surprised to see how much help he is. There’s just something about how he frames them, or whatever, something anyways. Magical place huh?” she said as her eyes lit up engulfing all the daily light that had herded itself into the atrium.
“So why only his name above the door?” Josey quickly replied by lifting her hand to the sky and presented a wedding ring tightly bound to her skinny finger.
“Ahh… cool top. It’s got that new um… modern kinda look. ” Susan said pointing towards the lump of half recognisable cloth dead on the table in front of her. It was white with different linings of grey shaded edges. Very modern shit popping straight from the corners of a prized fashion magazine.
“My new design. I design rubbish now. I think it’s deserving of the finest bin but Steff says it looks nice so... it’s definitely shit.” She lasted on those words for a second taking the time to once more think about Susan and her half naked self. She was no more ashamed about how she was dressed in front of her, joyfully presenting her front for the audience. Josey eased her movements up from the table and straightened her back raising her eye line above Susan’s forehead. She had that expression that milked the “shits getting serious” kind of moment. Susan sensed it, not looking at her, but inadvertently through imitating Josey she sensed the mood shift for a lower gear. In a way it was the rumbling seriousness in Susan’s own arms which warned her what was next.
“I share something about myself and you sit still giving nothing. Now it’s your turn to strip. Why have you been copying me throughout? Don’t get me wrong I’m flattered in some weird way.” Josey said easing into Susan’s comfort zone. Her limbs loosened not knowing what to do apart from take it and leave unceremoniously. With Josey closing in a relaxed exit became less and less of a possibility.
Susan covered her crotch and chest once more as if her cover had been ripped from her skin leaving nothing but vulnerable flesh. Josey was gentle about it however tickling and caressing Susan’s fleshy innocence with her revealing words. Everything she said acted as the pointed finger in the yard, highlighting the new kid’s deformity.
“You attracted to me or something? Nah that’s not it. Whether you know you’re doing it or not, just make sure not to freak out the person you are doing it to.” Josey said not expecting a response from her. Susan clenched, framed and frozen.
She leaned in closer to the half stalked girl placed against the hilt of the table, and whispered a piece of knowledge. The way she broke through Susan’s border highlighted how much she meant what was about to be said. “Some people may take it the wrong way and see it as an insult. It’s not a pretty position to be in.”
Syllables killed themselves before they reached the tip of Susan’s tongue, resulting in a limp silence. Josey left her gaze at the table and picked up her clothed bundle of work. Susan still clenched onto the skin that wa
s left hanging from her waist, Josey took her leave. Each step reverberated between the arches and the pillars of the room, speeding up the milky thoughts that rushed through Susan’s nostrils.
The atrium was left by itself to tend with the collected morning stank that flaked from the skin of both women. Josey’s momentary appearance left an astounding amount of interesting imagery in Susan’s thoughts. It also threw her into one of those self-reflective states. So, with what was left of her dignity, not much as it seemed, she snuck her way back up to Mathew’s office.
Squeezing ever so softly on the handle of the door she peaked into the room to make sure he was still asleep. A large part of her hoped that he was still knocked out from last night. She wasn’t in any particular mood to engage with anyone, especially after Josey’s barrage of punched up words.
Mathew was plastered to the couch with his back facing the open room. His hair was ruffled to the extent of an empty vodka bottle.
Boot left and boot right rose themselves from the dead with the help of Susan’s quiet hands. Their laces were tangled and wrapped open unable to close. Getting dressed was as difficult as one would expect with having to ponder the various sentences that came running from Josey. With boots fastened to the tracks of her feet she left a note with her number on it for Mathew to find on the desk. Nothing to rummage and nothing to do, she left him and his building with queued music drumming in the background.
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